


the right choice

by days4daisy



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Assassination Attempt(s), Extra Treat, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Loyalty, Sacrifice, Stabbing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:08:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25681795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: It all happens so fast.
Relationships: Brunnhilde | Valkyrie/Thor (Marvel)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 31
Collections: Battleship 2020, Battleship 2020 - Ocean Witch, Battleship 2020 - Red Team





	the right choice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thatsparrow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatsparrow/gifts).



It all happens so fast.

She should have known. They all should have, but she above all. Brunnhilde has seen every war and battle. The open plain wars and those shrouded in subterfuge. She’s fought fair opponents and the most dastardly bastards the universe has ever known.

And Brunnhilde is king. It is her duty to know, her responsibility above any others.

Thor knew. It’s why, when she realizes, his body is between hers and the poison-laced spear aimed at the center of her spine. It plunges into Thor’s stomach, and life becomes a frantic sprint.

The guards spring into action. The perpetrators wear hoods, their simple black dress easy to overlook until now. There is a flurry of swords and clanging blades. The spies are unarmed and forced to their knees. Brunnhilde barks orders to take them into custody.

Thor has not risen from the floor. Red stains his tunic like spilled wine and spreads jam-like across the floor beneath him. His face breaks into a fever-hot sweat. Brunnhilde knows immediately. “Healers!” she cries. “Poison!”

Life sprints on. There are elixirs and healing magic. Wails and hushed, desperate prayers. They carry Thor's body to the healing rooms. The floors are cleaned. They chain and question the would-be assassins. A guard tells Brunnhilde that they are servants of Thanos, avengers of their fallen Titan. Avengers. Thor will find that funny when he wakes.

If he wakes.

All at once, life slams to a halt. Brunnhilde is in a chair beside Thor’s healing bed. He’s stripped to the waist, pierced stomach dressed with bandages. Sweat dots across Thor’s brow. He mumbles in his unconsciousness. Brunnhilde thinks she hears ‘mother’ among the incoherent ramble.

She feels nothing until Thor opens his eyes forty-eight standard hours later. Unnatural gold and bleary blue twitch around the room.

Brunnhilde’s numbness becomes anger. Great, swelling fury bubbling through her breast and frothing from her mouth. “What in Hel did you think you were doing?” she hisses.

Thor blinks at her. Again, his gaze flits across the room. His fingers flex against the bed clothes. When he breathes, his round stomach rises and falls under the gauze and tape. “Are you hurt?” he asks in a parched voice.

“Am _I_ hurt?” Rage burns in Brunnhilde’s chest. “You’re _never_ doing that again, do you understand me? What were you thinking!?”

Thor smiles as if she’s said something funny. “You’re not hurt,” he murmurs. The tension bleeds out of his body. He slumps into his pillows, face a picture of relief. “Good. There was more than one. I thought the guards might not get there in time.”

Brunnhilde is so furious, her hands tremble in her lap. She would shake him if it wouldn’t make the stitches burst on his stomach. “Did you hear me, Thor?” Anger tightens her voice. “Never do that again. Ever. Or I’ll finish the damn deed myself.”

Thor’s sluggish eyes swim in her direction. “I can’t promise that,” he says.

Stitches and bandages damned, Brunnhilde will punch him if he isn’t careful. “Why in the Hel not?”

He frowns at her, soft and confused. “You’re king now,” he says. “It’s my duty to protect you.”

Brunnhilde springs from her seat, the rage is too much to contain. She plants furious hands on the side of his bed. “Because of _you_ ,” she grits. “I’m king because of _you_ , not by blood, not by vote. _You_ are Odin’s heir, Thor. Asgard’s blood is _your blood_. If you think for one minute-”

“I’m glad you’re alright,” Thor says. It’s as if he doesn’t hear her, a weak smile on his face. Fever may heat his face from the last of the poison, but he’s pale under the color. His hands shiver, and his breaths rasp. But he looks at her like this self-inflicted illness satisfies him. He looks at peace when their gazes meet, broken only by a short, painful cough.

Brunnhilde sighs defeat. “Easy,” she mumbles. She fetches him a cup of water from his bedside table. His fingers twitch at his sides but make no move to take up the glass, so she holds it to his lips and helps him to drink. Thor takes a deep gulp, turning away for heavier, rattling coughs. “Slower,” Brunnhilde tells him. She rests a hand on his brow, feels the sweat and fever humid on her skin.

“Slow,” Thor wheezes, “has never been in my nature.”

“Nor has not being an idiot,” Brunnhilde grumbles. She keeps her hand against Thor’s forehead until he can slump again, hacks ebbing. Thor lifts his head for the water again, damp lips sliding open. This time, he manages a smaller sip and sinks back with only a muted, closed-mouth cough.

Brunnhilde’s hand eases from Thor’s brow to his hair. He’s kept it long in the time since Thanos. As an honor, someone has fixed his braids, twining them back into order, fitting for a warrior of Thor’s stature. Brunnhilde’s own hair bears matching weaves, pinned back from her face.

“I don’t care who’s king,” Brunnhilde tells him. “Don’t do that again. I won’t forgive you, Thor, do you understand? I’ll never forgive you.”

“And I won’t lose anyone else,” Thor mumbles. His eyelids droop under her patient strokes. “I won’t, Val. Especially you.”

Brunnhilde doesn’t like the answer at all. She doesn’t like how cold and warm it makes her feel all at once. Brunnhilde wants to scream at him and embrace him. Punch him and kiss the lingering touch of water from his lips.

“You’re infuriating,” Brunnhilde mutters.

Thor smiles. “Ditto,” he says. What a horrible word. He must have picked it up during his time on Midgard.

With a huff, Brunnhilde tosses herself back into Thor’s bedside seat. Thor’s eyes stay closed, but his head cocks in her direction. “You don’t have to stay,” he mumbles. “I’m fine… I’ll be fine, anyway.”

“Are you trying to order me to leave?” Brunnhilde asks. Before he can say anything, she snorts. “I’m king, you said so yourself.”

“I did, but you-”

“Shut up and get some sleep,” Brunnhilde tells him.

Thor chuckles, resolve draining from his shoulders. “Yes, your majesty,” he says.

Eyes rolled, Brunnhilde gives his slack hand a pat. Thor’s head lolls towards his chest, and his expression evens out. As he goes lax, Brunnhilde’s fingers stay twined with his. Skin calloused by Stormbreaker scratches the back of her hand.

Though she hates to admit it, Thor is right. There’s much to do and matters that need her attention. The would-be assassins, first of all. They’ve faced questions, but not from her. She knows their general motive but not why Asgard was a target above the others who aided in the end of Thanos’ rule. There is also a frazzled court to calm and worried every day citizens to appease.

But the thought of leaving Thor’s side makes her chest clench in a wonderful, terrible way. So Brunnhilde stays. Squeezing Thor’s limp hand, she tells herself it’s the right choice.


End file.
